The Forgotten Princess
by PrincessPancakes
Summary: When Rachel visits London with her parents, a devastating accident occurs that changes the path of her life forever. She meets Sherlock in the hopes of him helping her discover who she truly is. Sherlock uncovers secrets from her past that unravels the very core of British history, but his discovery puts both himself and Rachel in danger.
1. Chapter 1 The Accident

Author's note: Thank you for taking the time to read my story. It is my first fanfic. I have role played several characters over many fandoms, but never attempted a full story on my own. Sherlock won't be making an appearance for a chapter or two, but I promise it will be worth the wait. I plan on developing the character of Rachel a lot. She is abrasive at first, but my hope is that she will become mor. Like able. Please, review so I know how I am doing. I plan on publishing at least a chapter a week. :)

The Accident:

After three days in London, Rachel was ready to go home. Her family had brought her here after her college graduation for a gift, expecting that she would enjoy a month in Great Britain. She would have much rather have spent August back home at the beach in Florida. Her mom and dad had woken her up early this morning to go on a double decker bus tour of the sights. Her boredom was second only to her unwillingness to wake early. She begrudgingly chose an outfit appropriate to the weather, which was crisp. A light pink jumper, paired with skinny jeans tucked into black knee high boots would do well. She styled her hair down, with loose curls parted to one side.

The door clicked shut behind her. Her parents, Martha and James, were already downstairs in the restaurant for breakfast. She made her way to the elevator, but not before stopping at a mirror in the corridor, checking to make sure her hair was in place. Everything seemed to move slower here to her. Back home the elevator would have been here by now. Finally, the doors opened to the lift, and she stepped in, quickly pressing the button for the ground floor. When the doors did not shut, she impatiently jammed her finger on the "close" button, and the doors creaked shut. With a is mysmall shudder, the lift lowered and she leaned impatiently against the wall. The lift stopped to allow more passengers on, and each time Rachel would sigh and rest her head against the wall.

Finally arriving on the ground floor, Rachel took no time in making sure she was the first off the lift. The heels of her boots made a satisfying click on the tile floors with each steps which motivated her to quicken her pace. She found her mom and dad sitting at a table set for three by a window overlooking the beautiful hotel garden. No sooner than she was able to sit, the waiter brough her a large plate with her breakfast. She said nothing to the man, but simply nodded her head in acknowledgement of his presence.

"Beans again?" Rachel lifted her spoon from the beans, allowing the sauce to dribble down back into the bowl. She turned her lip up in an unsatisfied look.

"It's traditional, Rachel." James replied, trying not to be too condescending for fear of setting her off into one of her foul moods.

"It's disgusting." She said, slumping back into her chair. She ate what she wanted, leaving the rest to be discarded.

"Well, it's time, ladies" James rose from his chair and helped his wife stand while offering his arm to Rachel. James was smiling from ear to ear, the pride he felt radiated from his face.

At 9 a.m. she found herself looking down the side of a red double decker, her mother and father linked arm in arm in front of her quietly talking. Her mother would occasionally giggle in response to something her father said. Rachel rolled her eyes, and went back to her phone. Thankfully, her parents had the foresight to get her a phone sim card to use while in the U.K. so she could keep in contact with her friends. She was currently messaging her boyfriend, Jason, on Facebook and sipping the latte she had picked up from Starbucks before being dragged to the bus stop that morning.

The bus opened its doors, and her parents, being the first in line, boarded the bus and continued up to the second deck. She sat down on the second seat in the upper deck, straightening her sweater. Her Starbucks coffee in hand, she settled in for what was sure to be another boring tourist activity with her family. Her parents sat in the seat in front of her and the bus cranked to a start.

Twenty minutes into the ride and she was nearly asleep. Her chestnut brown hair was blowing into her face, and she lifted her hand to brush the strands out of her eyes when a jolt sent her hand slapping into her face, and her body suddenly airborne. Before she had time to react she was tumbling out the side window to the ground below, her head smashing against the side of the bus. Her world went black before she hit the ground.

She woke up, the amount of time that has passed was unknown to her. Noises were swirling around her. The sound of ambulance sirens, people screaming, and the police shouting instructions. She attempted to move her head, but the pain that surged through her neck stopped any further movement. Nausea welled inside her stomach. Closing her eyes, she willed sleep to come but it never did. A medic kneeled beside her to check her vitals. His voice was reassuring, letting her know that her wounds appeared to be superficial. A gurney wheeled up beside her and the two medics slid a board under her back, strapped her to it and lifted her onto the gurney. Panic welled in her throat.

"My parents!" She squeaked out.

"We will do everything we can for everyone involved" The Paramedic was to the point, and not wanting to get her hopes up. The accident was very serious.

And with that, she was lifted into the ambulance, and the doors shut, sending her on her way to the hospital.

Three medics were in the ambulance with her, each one performing a task in tandem with the other. A needle tore through the skin of her left forearm as the medic set up a line for an I.V. while another wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her arm. The third was busy placing the stickers for the leads of the heart monitor. Rachel seemed oblivious to all that was going on around her, the only thing she could bring herself to do was stare out the window of the rig watching the cars behind them.

"Miss? What is your name, miss?" The sound of the medic's voice brought her back to reality.

"Rachel Westmoore." Her voice was unsteady as she replied. The throbbing in her head was relentless and now a dull ache was beginning to creep into her left arm.

"Any allergies?" The man asked, while taping down the catheter in her arm to steady it.

"None." She croaked as the pain became overwhelming and tears overflowed.

"Alright, Rachel, we're going to give you something for the pain, you will feel a rush of dizziness and a bit of a warm feeling as the drug goes through your system, but that will soon subside."

Just as he said, a wave of dizziness came over. It was like being in the ocean and a large wave had overtaken her. Instead of fighting it, she allowed her body to succumb to the relief and she drifted into a deep sleep for the rest of the ride.


	2. Chapter 2 The Hospital

**Author's Note: Thank you all for the encouraging response to chapter one! I am overwhelmed with gratitude. I hope to continue on writing as quickly as I am. This story has been floating around in my head for quite some time. It's wonderful to finally get it out. We are still waiting for our beloved Sherlock to make an appearance, but Molly will be coming into the next chapter. Please, leave a review, let me know how I'm doing! I appreciate honesty. **

A jolt was sent through her body. The serenity that was enveloping her began to fade and the sound of doctors voices and the beeping of the heart monitor became louder. She opened her eyes to be met with the view of a bright light above her. As she began to focus, a face appeared.

Confusion swept across Rachel's face as she listened to the doctor. Her mind rushed. The accident. Oh my god. What happened?

"Rachel, please wake up." The soothing voice was warm and friendly, inviting her back to reality. "Rachel, you are at Saint Mary's Hospital after the bus crashed. I am Dr. Turner. You have sustained relatively monor injuries considering the severity of the accident. From what I understand, the bus you were on was attempting to cross an intersection, but a large delivery truck had run the stop light. It crashed into the passenger side, causing the bus to eject most of the passengers on the front upper level. Your left arm was broken, but we have mended it and expect you to fully recover. you also have sustained a concussion and we want to retain you here for further observation." The doctor paused, her face softened as she placed a hand over Rachel's. "We were able to locate your information in your purse, I hope you don't mind."

"Where's my parents?" Rachel was sick with worry.

"We will take you to see your father shorty. Once we get you ready to sit in a wheelchair. We can't have you walking given your current condition. I'm afraid that your father has sustained numerous traumas though. Currently, the most pressing of which is his kidney." Dr. Turner shifted her weight, as if whatever she was about to say was uncomfortable or troubling. "You see, your father is in very serious condition. A shard of glass has gone through his back and has essentially shredded his kidneys. He will be needing a transplant as soon as a matching donor can be located.

"Well, what about me? Am I a suitable match?" Rachel did not understand why they had not considered her. From what she had learned in her basic college biology class, she had a good chance of being a match based on their blood types. Although she had never learned what her blood type was, there was a good chance her and her father should be the same.

"We have run a basic blood panel on both you and your father and unfortunately you are not a match. You have type ab blood and your father has type A. Unfortunately that is not compatable." Dr. Turner looked apoplectic. "We will get you set up to visit your father. Let me know if you have any further questions or need anything at all. Best wishes to you, Miss. Westmoore." And with that she turned, closed the curtain and waked out the door.

Rachel waited until she heard the door close before she allowed herself to burst into tears. The London sunset was streaming orange light into her room, reflecting off the laminate wood floors. Her body shuddered with each sob. Regret washed over her. If only she had been less sarcastic, and more appreciative.

A nurse walked in, pushing a cart with a laptop attached. On the cart were two small glass bottles and syringes. The nurse greeted her with a warm, comforting smile. She was a younger woman, not much older than she, with strawberry blond hair and green eyes. Freckles dotted her mose and cheeks. "Have some medicine here for you, miss, pain relief and muscle relaxant". A beautiful Irish accent provided Rachel with further comfort. "I am Jackie, and I'll be taking care of you tonight. Now, if I could just get you to verify your name and birthdate for me." She gently took hold of Rachel's wrist to scan the band with her information in it.

"Um, I'm Rachel Westmoore, birthday is June 23, 1988." Her mind was slow, she was unsure if it was due to the accident, or the medicine, or a combination of both.

"Alright, this should help." Jackie connected the syringe with the iv line and plunged the medication in. Within moments Rachel felt relief.

"Now let's get your socks on so we can get you down to see your dad." Jackie pulled a clear bag out of her pocket containing bright yellow socks with white grips on them. She tore into the package and lifted the sheet to put them on Rachel's feet. This was the first time that Rachel had been able to see her feet since the accident. Her legs had hundreds of little cuts on them, and multiple black and blue bruises. She gasped in horror.

"Aw, sweetie, don't you get yourself worried about those little bumps and bruises. They will heal well enough, along with everything else, and you will be right as rain." Jackie finished with the socks and helped her into the wheelchair that she had brought over from the corner.

"Thank you" Rachel was truly grateful for the help and reassurance that Jackie had provided. With that they set out the door, and down the hall to the elevator. Rachel couldn't help but realize the parallel to this morning at the hotel. She was so unwilling to even get in the lift this morning, but now it seemed that the wheels on her chair could not carry her fast enough, nor could the elevator move to a speed that was satisfactiory to her. All she wanted was her parents.

Within a few minutes she was being wheeled into a small room, and the figure of a man was visible in the bed before her. As she was wheeled closer, she put her right hand out and made contact with her father's hand.

"I'll leave you be, just let us know when you're ready to come back to bed." And with that, Jackie exited the room.

Tears steamed down her face, leaving her eyes red and bloodshot. "I'm so sorry, daddy."

She was not expecting a response, she had imagined he would be sleeping, but she felt his hand tighten around hers and his voice crackled. "You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart."

Her body shuddered, and she lowered her head onto the side of the bed, next to his hand. The table beside his bed had her transfixed momentarily. The last of the setting sun's light was shining in through the windows behind her dad's bed and cast such an amazing light on the African Vilots that were on the table next to a few old magazines. I wish I had my camera, what a beautiful photo that would be. Mom would love it. Mom. Where is mom? Her mind began to race, and in once swift motion, she lifted her head, and the dizzying ache returned.

"Daddy, where's mom?"

He drew in a deep, heavy breath and paused, considering his words. "Rachel, darling, your mom didn't make it."

Rachel felt as if she had been thrown out of the bus again. Her hand began to tremble from the shock of the information that was given to her. She released his hand and covered her mouth to stifle a scream.

James continued with what she needed to know. "Your mother died on impact, she felt no pain. It was instantaneous. And perhaps much better than what could have been." He paused, the reality of what he was about to tell her was overwhelming. "We didn't want you to know until we had a grip on the situation a could figure out a course of treatment. Your mother had Large granular lymphocyte lleukemia and it was very progressed by time it was caught. She had only discovered it last month at her annual checkup." He paused, watching the tears stream down his daughters face only ebbed his on more. "She didn't want you to know, didn't want to ruin your graduation. So we planned on telling you at the end of the trip. She was planning on getting treatment here, at Saint Mary's." He couldn't hold back the tears any longer. "They have her at Saint Barthalamew's under the care of a pathologist named Hooper. She's sending her back home for us. Hopefully we will be able to go see her before they send her."

She felt betrayed, wounded, aching, but most of all, she felt as though a searing hot knife had been set through her heart. "Oh daddy." Her breath was haggard. "I was so cruel to you both. And so selfish. If only I had been more in tune. All the signs were there, I just ignored them. I didn't want to think of anyone but myself." She drew in another haggard breath. "Please, forgive me."

"Rachel, your mother knew the extent of your love for her. Do not ever doubt that." He reached out and took her hand again. "We loved you before we even met you. You were always meant to be our little girl"

His words had struck her as odd. Before we even met you?

-/-/-

**Large granular lymphocyte (LGL) leukemia**: This is another rare form of chronic leukemia. The cancer cells are large and have features of either T lymphocytes or natural killer (NK) cells (another type of lymphocyte). Most LGL leukemias are slow-growing, but a small number are more aggressive. Drugs that suppress the immune system may be helpful, but aggressive cases are very hard to treat.


	3. Chapter 3 The Truth

**The Truth**

_Before we even met you._

The words echoed through her mind. It wasn't so much what he said but how he said it. She released her father's hand using her legs, pushed herself backwards to the end of his bed. His eyes followed her, unsure of what she was doing. It wasn't until she took hold of his chart that hung on the foot of the bed that he began to understand.

She opened the large brown binder that contained all of the medical information documented since his admittance. Her knowledge of the medical field was greater than most other trained photographers. Even though she graduated with a degree in photography, she spent the first year of college in a nursing program. She had learned how to administer medicines intravenously, clean wounds, and even make a quick and accurate diagnosis of some basic illnesses and treat them. It wasn't until the summer after her freshman year in college that she discovered her passion for photography. She spent that summer with her new camera driving up and down the Florida coastline taking pictures of the scenery. It wasn't until then that she really found a passion for anything

Her eyes scanned the documents in front of her. Pouring over the information she could see that his condition was critical, his MRI showed an aneurysm in the left frontal lobe of his brain. His kidney was severely mangled, it was any wonder that he was still alive. But the information that was most shocking to her was a simple letter.

_A-_

James knew she had found the information that she had been searching for. The look in her eyes said it all. There, in that small room, she had learned the truth of the secret that they had kept from her for so long.

_These are not my parents._ The thought was playing like a broken record though her ears. The sound of the hospital grew around her. She was suddenly aware of everything. The clock ticking on the wall, the diminishing sunlight through the blinds. Voices of people in the next room, and the sound of her own heart. Her ears pounded out the internal rhythm of her heart. It wasn't until she heard it quicken that she realizes she needed to breathe.

With a gasp, air rushed into her lugs, burning as they filled with the oxygen her body needed. "I'm not your daughter, am I daddy?" It wasn't until she said these words that the harshness struck her.

"No, sweetheart, you are not biologically ours." The look on his face was pure anguish. It was time to tell her the truth of her situation. "Come, sit with me." He motioned her over with a waive of the hand as he scooted his body over so that she could have some room. Using her legs, she pulled herself forward in the chair, and with her good arm, lifted her body up. She sat on the edge of the bed, and swung her legs up so that she was seated next to him. He put his arm round her and began her story.

"Twenty-six years ago, your mother and I found out that we could never have any children of our own. It was our dream to have a baby girl of our own. Our very own little princess. So we began searching for an adoption agency. We were quickly approved to be parents, but the process of finding a baby was not nearly as easy. We had set up a nursery for the baby that was to be ours, everything was ready. We had several close calls in fact. We had gone to the extent of being called to the hospital to meet a baby that was to be ours, and had the opportunity to hold her. The adoption papers could not be signed until the baby was released from the hospital. So two days later, your mom and I went back to the hospital, car seat an diaper bag in hand only to find out that the birth mother had changed her mind. We packed up, and went home empty handed. We had, at that moment, given up hope of ever having a child of our own." He paused and looked down at his daughter who was now curled into his arm listening intently.

"That same year, late on Christmas Eve night, our adoption agent called us into her office. She said it was a delicate situation, and to get there quickly. We wasted no time. Once we had arrived, our agent greeted us at the door holding the most beautiful brown haired baby girl that we had ever seen. Your mother took you into her arms and held you tight. The agent has told us that the biological mother had been in the States since the first of June, and that she was in the run from the United Kingdom. She had given birth on June twenty-third of that year, but had been discovered by whoever she was hiding from and had surrendered you for adoption. We had been selected as your parents and we signed the papers that night. We called you our 'Christmas Miracle'. Several weeks later our agent had informed us that your biological mother had passed away. We never knew who your biological father might be. We had thought it best to keep this from you. It was for your protection, we never wanted whoever your biological mother was running from to find you."

She was speechless. She could do nothing but hold her dad tighter, being careful not to hurt her arm any more. "Thank you, daddy. For everything. Thank you for choosing me. Thank you for raising me. I could never have asked for a better life than the one you gave me." Her eyes stung with tears as they flowed down her cheeks. She had never spoken more from her heart in her life. She now understood the depth of her parents love for her.

"My princess, thank you. You have filled my life with more happiness than any man could ever ask for. You have given me a full and complete life." He kissed her head, and held her tightly. She could have fallen asleep there if her nurse did not come in at that moment.

"Time for you to get some rest, Miss. I'm so sorry to interrupt." Jackie approached the father and daughter and outstretched a hand to help Rachel back into her chair.

Rachel gave her dad a kiss on the cheek goodnight, and promised to be back as soon as she could in the morning.

"So sorry to hear about your mum, miss. Today has been such a tragic day for all of London." Jackie pushed her along the corridor to the lift.

"Thank you." Was all Rachel could manage to reply. The rest of the way to the room they were both silent.

Jackie helped Rachel back into bed, and re-dosed her medication. Seemingly, within seconds, Rachel was drifting asleep.

_Music was playing in a distant room. The sounds of a full orchestra playing a waltz. She was looking at herself in a mirror. She was in a stunning purple, single shoulder, floor length gown with an embellished waistline. Her hair was swept up into a stunning updo, with brown curls cascading down. There was a knock at the door, "come in", she heard herself say. A man in a tuxedo walked in. He was tall, had dark curly hair, but she couldn't make out the face. "Shall we?" the gentleman's voice was deep, but smooth like velvet. He offered his arm and they began to walk out the door. "Rachel."_

"_Rachel."_

"Rachel."

She was being shook. A hand was upon her arm, gently urging her out of her sleep. She wasn't ready. She didn't want to leave her dream. _Who was this mystery man_? She opened her eyes slowly, the harsh light of the surrounding room blinding her.

"I am afraid I have some difficult news." The voice was that of Dr. Turner. "Rachel, I am so sorry but your father passed away this morning at 2:54. He suffered a stroke from a ruptured aneurysm. We did everything we could to save him." The words hit her as if they were bricks. Dr. Turner took hold of her hand. "I am so sorry for your losses. My deepest condolences go out to you."

Rachel wrenched her hand back. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. She began to rock back and forth, drawing her knees up to her chest. She felt as though she might vomit. In one swift motion, she reached to her right, grabbing the small container they had left in case she got sick and threw up. She put the container back on the table, and a nurse quickly disposed of the contents. She began sobbing uncontrollably. Her sobs turned into screams. Dr. Turner ordered a nurse to give her something. within a few moments, Rachel felt herself drifting back into the bed. Everything went blank.

"Poor girl, lost her mother and father all in one day. Tomorrow get in touch with the American embassy. She'll need some help getting home. Get that Hooper girl on the line. Let her know that Mr. Westmoore will be on his way shortly." Dr Turner finished her notes and gave the nurse the last of her instructions. She turned off the light and let herself out of the room quietly.

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Please review! Let me know your thoughts for the coming chapters as well. I love feedback!


	4. Chapter 4 The Friend

**A/N Thank you for all the new followers and Favorites!  
A-D-E-E-E-R - Thank you for the reviews! Means the world to me and motivates me to write more. Molly will be a bit of help in this chapter. And Sherlock will be making his grand appearance next chapter. (Collective sigh of relief?)**

* * *

A week had passed since the accident, and her parents' death. Rachel was in no physical danger any more so she was transferred to St Bartholomew's just twenty minutes away from St. Mary's. She preferred the change. St. Mary's was nothing but despair and heartache for her. Her new room was smaller, and the window offered a less appealing view, but she had no interest in the outside world anymore.

Several people from the American embassy had visited her in the past week, ensuring her comfort. They had brought over the luggage from her hotel and had her parent's luggage sent back home. She was grateful that she did not have to go back and look at the clothes of her parents. She was not ready to handle the memories of the last time they wore them. The embassy had also set her travel date back home for next week. They were arranging the transport of her parents for tomorrow. She would have to miss the funeral, but she had already said her goodbyes. She had to be the one to call her aunt and uncle back home, letting them know about the accident. From that point, her aunt had taken it upon herself to oversee letting the rest of the family know and planning the funeral. Her boyfriend had sent a beautiful bouquet of roses, which were placed on the small windowsill.

She had met a wonderful pathologist who had been taking care of her parents. Her name was Molly Hooper. Once Rachel was allowed physical activity, she would find herself visiting Molly often in the morgue. She found a form of odd comfort in knowing that her parents were still close.

When they had initially met, Molly had come up to her room for a quick visit to keep her up to date on the arrangements with her parents. Molly had entered the room, introduced herself and without hesitation, offered a hug. It was the first hug that Rachel had received since her father had passed. The comfort of another human had sent her over the edge and she sobbed into Molly's shoulder. From that point on they had been fast friends. Every day since, Molly had taken her lunch in Rachel's room, often treating her to food different from the usual patient offerings.

Rachel had met Molly down in the lab for lunch today. Apparently Molly had found a new diet, and had brought them both salads with tuna on top and strawberry smoothies. Rachel happy accepted the lunch and they both sat at the counter to eat. Molly moved some of the lab equipment, set out silverware and napkins and placed the food in front of Rachel. Being left handed, Rachel had a hard time adjusting to using her right hand while her left was in the sling. Molly had made sure to bring foods that would be easier to eat and did not require cutting.

The conversation started as all their others had, Molly would tell her about her latest projects, and they would discuss music, television and clothes. Molly was not as inclined to fashion as Rachel, but since spending time together, she had picked up on some of Rachel's style. She had started styling her hair in the morning, rather than leaving it in a slack ponytail.

"So, before my dad died, he told me that I was adopted." Rachel knew no other way to bring up the subject. It was still so fresh to her that she herself had not fully adjusted to the new reality. "He told me that my mom had come to the U.S. from the U.K. but he had no idea who she was, much less who my biological father was."

Molly sat, unmoving, her fork still mid-air with a piece of lettuce on it. Unsure of what to say, she simply replied "oh, really?" and quickly shoveled the lettuce into her mouth.

"My mother had died under suspicious circumstances not long after I was adopted." Rachel looked down at her salad, no longer feeling hungry. "I don't know why I even brought this up. It's not like it can do me any good. The only _real_ parents that I ever had are dead anyway."

"Oh, sweetie" Molly rose from her chair, quickly wiping her mouth and placing the napkin back down while walking around the table to embrace her friend. "I know that his has not been easy at all for you. I can't even imagine how you're feeling. So much for you to process inside a week." She released Rachel, considering all her options. "It's a long shot, but why not let me run your DNA? Perhaps your biological parents' DNA was documented. It wouldn't be much, but it could give us a name. Perhaps your biological father is still alive?" She watched Rachel, she had hoped that this may be of some comfort to her.

"I think I might like that." Rachel was sincere in the reply. "I need more answers, and since my parents are no longer here, I have to get them from somewhere."

"Right you are. Lets get started." Molly moved quickly across the lab. She grabbed a long cotton swab that was enclosed in a tube. "Alright, open your mouth please." Rachel obliged, and Molly removed the swab. She put the tip inside Rachel's cheek, and rubbed it vigorously, turning it several times. Placing it back in the tube, she closed the end.

"How long does it take?" Rachel was curious, she hoped that it wouldn't be more than a week, otherwise she wouldn't be here for the result.

"Generally, about 24 hours, but I will try and rush it through for you." Molly smiled, she was quite pleased with herself. She was able to bring some distraction to her friend.

The ladies finished their lunch, and Rachel went back to her room. She found herself curiously excited for the results of the test. Perhaps her biological father would be able to tell her where she came from, and more about himself. She had hope of answers finally. The rest of the evening was spent on her laptop, messaging Jason. He had been devastated to learn of the accident, and of the passing of her parents. She had not yet told him about the adoption, and didn't plan on it until she had some more information. He offered to fly out to bring her home, but she declined. Their relationship had been uneasy for quite some time now, and she was considering ending things with him. He was a good man, but for some reason she felt that he was not right for her. She preferred to be alone, and often passed her time working on her photography or reading. He was more active, wanting to spend every night out or traveling.

She had been in touch with the receptionist at her photography studio back home. She let her know to cancel all appointments for next month as well. She reassured her that she would still be getting paid. Her business was doing well enough that she had some money saved away in case of an emergency.

She must have drifted to sleep with her laptop, at midnight the nurse came in and moved it, took her vitals, gave her medication and left her to go back to sleep. Rachel slept well that night. She felt some relief knowing that there was a chance that she would be getting more answers tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5 The Consulting Detective

The creaking of the door opening woke Rachel from her sleep. "Good morning, miss. Here to check your vitals and drop off your breakfast." The morning nurse was friendly, but Rachel was ashamed to admit to herself that she forgot her name already.

"Good morning", Rachel replied warmly. "What time is it, may I ask?"

"Half past ten, you slept the morning away. Didn't want you missing your breakfast either." The older woman replied. She had brown hair, streaked with grey in the front. She was stout, but pretty. She finished checking her blood pressure, and unwrapped the cuff from Rachel's arm.

She turned and pushed over the tray that held a lovely breakfast. Fresh fruit, scrambled eggs, a bit of bacon and baked beans. As soon as Rachel laid eyes on the beans she lost her resolve and began crying.

"What ever is the matter?" The nurse hurried back over putting her hand on Rachel's back, seeing that she was hunched over, her available hand covering her face while she shuddered.

"Nothing, it's silly." Rachel felt as if she were a teenager again, crying over the silliest of things. _Beans, really? I lose it over beans now? It's no wonder the psychologist visits daily. I would be concerned too._ She wiped away her tears, wishing that the same motion would wipe away the pain. Her heart ached for the reassurance of her parents. The nurse patted her on the back and left the room without saying anything further.

Losing her appetite at the beans, Rachel decided now would be as good a time as ever to go visit Molly in the lab and see what she may have uncovered. Rachel swung her legs gently over the bed, rising carefully so as not to lose her balance. She still felt like a newborn deer when she would first get up in the morning thanks to her head injury. She carefully made her way over to the suitcase and unzipped it. Using the good arm, she rifled through the case in an attempt to find clothes that were not too badly wrinkled. A pair of dark washed jeans didn't look too badly wrinkled, and a grey button up sweater might do just right.

She took the outfit into the bathroom with her, hanging it behind the door. She got ready for her shower, placing her casted arm into a plastic bag and securing it at the top so no water would get in. She showered quickly, and dried off. She brushed out her hair, and toweled it dry. Her hair had a natural wave to it, and after a shower it would be almost as if it were curled. She had no hair dryer available, much less any way to style her hair even if she had wanted to. She parted it to one side and left it be. Her hair was long, it reached just above her hips, so the water dripped freely onto the floor. The steam from the shower had allowed the wrinkles in the outfit she chose to fall out, so it was a vast improvement. She dressed as best she could one handed, and buttoned the sweater up. Thankfully the cast was just below her elbow so she could roll the sleeve above it. She added just a bit of make-up so that she wouldn't look like one of Molly's patients. She found her favorite tan suede loafers lined with plush white fuzz under the bed. They were old, and a bit battered from all the wear but she wasn't in much of a mood to worry about her looks now anyway.

She rolled up the other sleeve of her sweater up so it would match the one of her left arm and so that the patient bracelet would be visible. Grabbing the bowl of fruit, she walked out the door. Within a few minutes she was at the door of the lab. She knocked to let Molly know she was there, and let herself in before waiting for an answer. Her eyes were immediately drawn to a man sitting at the center counter of the room. His face was hidden behind the microscope, his dark brown curls cascading around his forehead. He looked up, only for a second and Rachel stopped in her tracks. His face disappeared behind the lenses of the microscope again. The man was the same from her dream, she had no doubt. She wanted a closer look at him so she approached the table.

"Hello." She offered the greeting tentatively. She had immediately regretting not taking more time on her appearance. He let out an audible sigh, and mumbled what may have been a greeting.

"He's always like that. Pay no mind to him." Molly's voice came from behind her. Rachel turned to greet her. "That is Sherlock. He uses my lab for his research. he's a detective."

"Consulting Detective." The voice from behind the microscope said.

"I just finished running your DNA, Rachel. Shall we pull up the results?" Molly walked round the counter to the computer that was next to the man. She wiggled the mouse and the screen blinked to life. Typing in her password, she began accessing the files she would need to give Rachel her answers. Rachel came round and stood next to Molly, waiting to see anything that would answer questions for her. "One moment, let me access the program."

Suddenly the computer made a horrid screeching noise. The screen went blue, and the seal of the British Secret Service came up. Molly began to panic a bit, pressing the keys and wiggling the mouse, but the computer was locked.

Sherlock looked up, the sound of Molly's quickened breathing getting his attention. His eyes were met with the seal and his curiosity was piqued. "Name." He said in a curt, matter of fact way.

"Excuse me?" Rachel was unsure if he was speaking to her.

"Name." He said forcefully this time.

"Rachel Westmoore." She replied

"Oh yes, the girl from the bus crash." He replied. "That was no accident by the way." Sherlock rose from the stool and brushing Molly out of the way all in one motion. He keyed a few buttons and a prompt for a password came up. He entered what Rachel could only assume was a password. Nothing happened. He entered another password. Nothing. "Mycroft." He muttered. He turned quickly, his coat spinning behind him.

The confusion was apparent on Rachel's face. Molly was equally confused, and panic was building within her. What would the Secret Service want with her computer?

Sherlock disappeared out the door. Molly and Rachel looked at each other in confusion. The door once again opened quickly. Sherlock's head popped back in the door. "For your safety, I suggest both of you come along. MI6 will be storming this building within a matter of minutes." And with that he was out the door again. Rachel and Molly didn't give it a second thought, they were both out the door running after him. They ran through the corridors, and quickly to the exit of the building.

"Sherlock, what is going on?" Molly was beginning to get mad, wanting an explanation.

"It would appear that your friend here is of some value to the British government." Sherlock was hailing a cab. "And, her value has become my new interest." A black cab pulled over, and Sherlock opened the door for the two women. The three of them entered the cab. "221 B Baker Street." The cab disappeared around the corner. Four black, unmarked police cars drove by them, blue lights blinking. Rachel looked back in awe. _What on earth is going on?_


	6. Chapter 6 The Brother

The black cab pulled up to the address, Sherlock stepped out and held the door open for the two confused women. He paid the driver and stepped up onto the pathway. "Shall we?" He opened the door to 221 B. Molly and Rachel followed.

"Would you care to tell me what exactly is going on?" Rachel was exasperated. She made it a rule to never go home with a man that she just met, but he had made it evident that they were in particular danger. What form of danger, she was unsure of.

"I'll be the one asking the questions for now." Sherlock was to the point. She followed Sherlock up the stairs, round the corner and into the door of his flat. She took in the room, her eyes scanning everything as he closed the door behind her. Clearly, he was single. There would be no way a woman would allow such chaos to exist in a living space. He motioned the ladies to the couch where they sat simultaneously. From this view, she was examining the fireplace in front of her. A skull sat atop the mantle, and the fireplace was framed with countless books.

"Very well then. Who are you?" Sherlock paced back and forth in front of the two ladies who sat slack-jawed.

"Rachel Westmoore…"

"No, no, I know that. Please, where are you from, who were your parents, why was Molly running your DNA?" Sherlock was trying to remain patient, but found it difficult when people did not answer the questions in the way he wanted.

"I am from Florida, was here on holiday with my parents. They were Martha and James. Molly was running my DNA to find out who my biological parents were." Rachel decided to explain further so as not to incite more questions. "I found out last week that I was adopted, my biological mother was found dead shortly after my adoption. She was from the U.K.. I was hoping that perhaps we could find my biological father and I could get some questions answered." Rachel drew in a sharp breath, hoping her explanation would be sufficient.

Sherlock was looking at the window, a black sedan had pulled up. "Right on time." he said to no one in particular. The room remained quiet for the moment. Sherlock stepped away from the window to face the door.

The door open, and an older man stepped through. He had some similarities to Sherlock, but was not nearly as handsome as he, Rachel observed.

"Mycroft, so predictable of you to come." Sherlock sneered at him a bit.

"Sherlock, you've been behaving poorly again. You know better than to try and enter my passwords when restricted information comes up." Mycroft smiled. "Particularly when it involves the integrity of our nation." He looked over to Rachel. "You must be Ms. Westmoore. Pleasure to meet you under other circumstances I am sure." He turned back to Sherlock now. "Keep her hidden, she has been flagged. She will not be allowed to leave the country. MI6 will be looking for her. I find her to be, less than threatening, the monarchy, on the other hand, may not agree." He casually checked his pocket watch and moved across the room to look out the window. "There are a great many secrets that this country hold, but I promise you, Sherlock, this is not one that you want to get into."

Sherlock was now sitting in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, and his fingers steepled under his chin. He was beyond intrigued now.

"The only information that I can provide you, Ms. Westmoore, is that your biological father passed away, unfortunately, not long after you were born." Mycroft turned back to her, looking her directly in the eye. Molly was motionless. "Miss Hooper, you may return to your work. I must recommend, however, that you do not further the processing of Miss Westmoore's DNA. I can guarantee dead ends." He walked to the door. "Good day, Sherlock, remember, she is your responsibility now." The door closed, and everyone in the room remained silent for some time after.

"Who was that?" Rachel asked. Sherlock and Molly answered together as a chorus, "Mycroft."

"Who?"

"Only my older brother. Nothing of consequence." Sherlock was already three steps ahead of what Rachel may be considering. He swiftly moved to his computer and began typing away. Rachel looked stunned.

"Oh, forgive me, I'm being rude. Would you like some tea?" Sherlock asked, without looking up.

"That would be wonderful." Rachel said, staring blankly into the wall.

"Right then." Sherlock said plainly before shouting, "Mrs. Hudson, tea!"

Rachel jumped. Her nerves were already shot, and the shouting had frayed the last of them. Sherlock rose from his chair, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He sent a text, Rachel had guessed from the way he had moved his hands. "John will be on his way."

Rachel couldn't help but notice the way that Molly was staring at Sherlock. This must have been the man that she had heard so much about from her. Rachel could understand her fascination with the man. He was attractive, but more than that, it was his intelligence that was so appealing.

"Molly, go to the hospital and bring back miss Westmoore's things. She will be staying in John's old flat upstairs."

* * *

There you have it. A short, but telling chapter. Please review, and let me know, should next chapter be in Sherlock's perspective?


	7. Chapter 7 The Flat

Molly was back within an hour with Rachel's suitcase, camera bag and a myriad of other things that Rachel had brought on her trip. Sherlock, without thinking to help, motioned her up the stairs with the items. John, who had only just arrived, rushed over to Molly's side to help her up the stairs. He took a load from her arms and ran up the stairs, skipping steps.

Rachel was sitting on the sofa, now sipping a cup of tea that the kind Mrs. Hudson had brought up after Sherlock's shouting. Rachel had taken a liking to Mrs. Hudson, she found her funny, and caring. She had a blanket draped over her shoulders, and Mrs. Hudson had her hand on Rachel's shoulder while listening to the past week of her life as she retold everything to John.

"There must be a reason she alone can put Mycroft on high alert." Sherlock directed his comment to John. John sat in his chair, befuddled.

"So, you're telling me, that this poor girl is the reason the nation is now on a silent alert?" John was perplexed. He occasionally received notices from his military buddies about current alerts. Obviously he had been informed of some sort of goings on within the ranks. "Any ideas?"

"Four, so far." Sherlock was back at the computer typing. His frustration was growing as it was apparent he was not getting the results he had hoped for in his searches.

"Care to share, Sherlock?" John was irritable.

"Nope."

"Right, well then. I must be off. Mary will be wanting help with the baby, no doubt." John rose from his chair and stood in front of Rachel offering a hand. Rachel obliged, and shook his hand. "Let me know if I can do anything for you. I know exactly what it will be like living above Sherlock. I will remove that cast for you in about four weeks. It seems to be healing quite well."

"Thank you, Mr. Watson." Rachel was indeed very grateful for all the help he had provided.

"I'll be leaving too, I suppose." Molly's voice came from the doorway.

Rachel had entirely forgotten she was here. She was too transfixed on Sherlock to notice much of anything, really. She jumped up off the seat and rushed over to where Molly was. "Thank you so much for everything. I am so sorry that I got you into such trouble." She embraced her friend.

"No trouble at all. I enjoy helping a friend. I just wish we could have gotten some answers for you." Molly returned the hug.

"Should have consulted a professional." Sherlock's voice said from behind Rachel.

"Good luck with him. All the years I've known him and he's always been like that. He seems to notice everything but what you want him to." Molly let her bitterness be known.

"Your hair suits you well, Molly." Sherlock groaned out.

Rachel giggled. It was the first laugh she had all day. It was nice to know that Molly had gotten some recognition from the man she seemed to be so fixed on. "Be safe." Rachel offered one last hug before Molly went out the door. Rachel went back to the sofa, putting the blanket back around her shoulders. Mrs. Hudson must have left in the last flurry of activity. She was alone with Sherlock now.

She sat there for several minutes, watching the man before her. His eyes sparkled several rich colors of blue, green and flecks of gold. His chiseled cheekbones stood out as a bold feature on his face. She couldn't help but to stare at him. She felt a shudder down her spine, not knowing whether it was from cold, shock, her injuries, or her growing attraction to Sherlock. _No, I will not allow myself to go there. I cannot allow myself. _

Sherlock walked over to her, handing her an iPhone. "You'll be needing this. I always keep a spare, and I'm assuming yours was lost in the crash." He sat across from her now, unmoving, fingers steepled under his chin. He was simply staring at her and taking in her features. _Tall, brown hair, brown eyes. Much like 'the woman'. Smart, cunning, photographer, observant. large eyes, anglo nose, strong jaw, slight frame, beautiful. No, don't allow yourself there, Sherlock. Focus. The possibility is there. strongest yet._ Sherlock left the chair and went back to his computer. He sat down once again typing. He pulled up a picture of King George VI, Czar Nicholas II and William the Conqueror. _Striking similarities, but no proof. _ He sat back in his chair, his right arm supporting his head, while his fingers massaged his chin and occasionally lips.

Rachel was transfixed. She bit her lip while watching him. She found similarities between the man before her and herself. She would often find herself so consumed in her work that she would ignore other people around her. It was one of the things that Jason hated about her. _Jason. _She looked down at the phone in front of her. She logged into facebook on the phone and several notifications immediately filled the screen. All of which were messages from Jason.

_11:46 a.m. What is going on?_

_11:46 a.m. Haven't heard from you…_

_12.22 p.m. Rachel?_

_12:42 p.m. Rachel!_

_1:04 p.m. Whatever_

_1:37 p.m. You are doing this again to me._

_2:02 p.m. Why must you always shut people out?_

_2:07 p.m. Rachel, I'm sorry, but I just cant do this anymore. I can't handle you shutting me out again and ignoring me. I don't deserve this. I tried to help you. I really did, but you are so blind to what others need that you never noticed all that I had managed to do for you._

_2:09 p.m. I will bring your stuff to your apartment and leave the key._

_2:09 p.m. Goodbye_

Rachel sat staring at her phone. She felt nothing. No heartbreak, no disappointment, no tears. She felt relief. She got up off the sofa and walked over to where Sherlock was. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, for helping me find answers." She bent down and lightly touched her lips to his cheeks. "I'll be going up to my room now and putting my things away. I'm sure I'll be hearing from you if you might need anything."

Sherlock sat unmoving. She had surprised him. The small kiss had sent a tingle down his back. The sincerity of it was something new. Irene had done similar, coincidentally in the same seat as where he was now. But the feeling that it cause was entirely different. Where Irene had left suspicion, Rachel had left curiosity. It had been quite some time since a woman had made him feel anything other than mistrust. He turned his head and watched her leave the room. His eyes scanned her body, as if he were reading a book. 36-24-38. Just as simply as he had done with _the woman_ he did with Rachel. He would be needing this information for what he had planned later.

Rachel made her way upstairs, taking in the room that would be hers for the foreseeable future. A full size, metal framed bed was to left as she walked into the room. On either side of that were two wooden antique night tables, small details of flowers carved into the two drawers. Stepping further into the room, she saw a lamp on both the night stands, a braided rug in front of the bed, a door that lead to the private bathroom with a large claw foot bathtub and a door leading to the small closet. There was a dresser, matching the nightstands with a cd player on top opposite the bed on the far wall, and a large, red antique chair to the right of the dresser, positioned in the corner next to one of two windows covered in lovely curtains that were to the left of the door. She found the room to be cozy. Mrs. Hudson must have done some work in here. The bed was freshly made, a dark brown comforter with flecks of red and gold embroidery covered the bed.

Her suitcase was on the bed. The purple printed Vera Bradley had been a gift from her mother for her senior year of university. She approached the bed and unzipped the bag. Her clothes were all neatly folded thanks to Molly. She smiled at the nice gesture, appreciating the time it must have taken her. She found it nearly impossible to accomplish even the most simple of tasks with her arm mending. She carefully took the clothes out and arranged them on the bed. She had brought some of her favorite clothes, a grey, double breasted peacoat, several scarves, sweaters in various colors, jackets, almost anything she might need while in London. The second suitcase contained shoes which she carefully arranged on the floor of the closet. She tucked her underwear carefully away in the dresser drawers and hung the clothes in the closet. The scarves were rolled and put into another drawer in the dresser.

She had been so busy that she had failed to notice Sherlock's quiet presence at the doorway. She turned from the dresser and let out a sound that could only be described as a squeak as she jumped when she saw him leaning against the door frame. "You startled me." She put her free hand to her chest as she leaned forward a bit to catch her breath.

"That was not my intention." He stepped into the room, approaching the bed and picked up her suitcases. "I came to help." She stepped out of his way as he put the empty cases on the top shelf of the closet.

"Thank you, I would have never been able to do that on my own." She sat on the chair, watching him.

"Clearly." He stepped out of the closet. "Normally, I don't eat while on cases, but yours, I'm afraid is at a standstill until I can acquire something." He moved closer to her, standing directly in front of the chair now. "Would you accompany me to dinner?" He offered his hand to her.

She was starving, if she was to be honest with herself. She wished she had actually ate the breakfast that was served to her at the hospital today. "I'd love to." She accepted his hand as he helped her upright. The touch of his skin on hers jolted her, and her heart quickened. She told herself it was because she was dizzy from standing too quickly. Looking directly into his eyes, she noticed no change in his expression and was silently relieved. "Just give me a moment to change into something more appropriate for the weather?"

Sherlock moved to her closet, selecting her cream colored, cowl neck cable knit sweater. "This should do just fine with the trousers you are wearing" He said while placing the sweater on the bed. He offered the slightest smile as he tucked his hands behind his back and exited the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

She appreciated the help in selecting clothes. She had no idea what would have been appropriate where they might have been going. She unbuttoned the grey sweater she had been wearing and pulled the cream one over her head, working her arms into the sleeves as carefully as possible. She looked at herself in the mirror, somewhat satisfied with the look. She pulled a pair of brown boots that fit just below the knee out of the closet and put them on, tucking her jeans into them. She freshened her makeup, applying some eyeliner and mascara and the slightest bit of shadow. Running her fingers through her hair, she walked out the door, checking to make sure the phone he had given her was secure in her pocket.

She found Sherlock waiting for her at the foot of the stairs, and he motioned her down the next set. He followed her out the front door.


	8. Chapter 8 The Restaurant

Sherlock had taken Rachel to the restaurant where he had took John on their first case, _A Study in Pink_. They ordered the food and both sat in silence eating. He observed her habits, taking everything in. She was obviously left handed, by the way she awkwardly handled the fork. She was quiet, much like he was. She moved with a subtle elegance.

Rachel was studying Sherlock just as he was her. She knew that he was observing her, and was trying not to put on a show. She was not uncomfortable but was beginning to get self conscious. "So, Mr. Holmes, tell me about yourself. Who is the man behind that brilliant mind?" She tried easing the tension with conversation.

"You're an observant woman, you tell me." Sherlock very rarely offered the opportunity to other to play deductions, but he felt that she may be of some entertainment to him. She certainly had the brain for it, _lets see if she can use it._

"Me, try and make deductions and observations about the great Sherlock Holmes? Oh sir, my match has been more than met in you." She smiled coyly.

"Give it a go." Sherlock leaned back into his chair.

"Very well." She too leaned back into her chair, wiping her mouth on the napkin that was in her lap and lowering her hand again. "Fine. You believe yourself to be superior to everyone, but when you meet someone that may meet your level of intellect, you find yourself intimidated, though you will never admit that to yourself." She paused, reading his expression which was blank, except for his eyes. That was his tell. She had hit him where it hurt. "You are acutely aware of everything except yourself. But that's only what I've seen so far."

Sherlock was impressed, and that was something that was difficult for him to admit. "Very good." Was all he could manage.

The owner of the small shop came over, and introduced himself. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's the first time Sherlock has brought in a girlfriend." The man was seemingly surprised.

Rachel giggled slightly. "He's not my boyfriend, he's simply helping me on a case.

"You're in luck, miss, he is the absolute best. He cleared me from murder." The man was beaming with pride.

Sherlock rolled his eyes again.

"The meal is on me, of course, Mr. Holmes." With that, the man turned and went back to the kitchen.

"You have apparently made a lasting effect on this city." Rachel smiled. "I hope I didn't offend you."

"Never apologize for being correct. It weakens you." Sherlock seemed to be moping.

She felt that a change of subject might do them both some good.

"So, since we are now flatmates, what should I know about you.?"

"I like to be left alone. I will let you know if you can be of any use to me." Sherlock stood, offering his hand to her. She accepted the help up again, and they walked out the door. Once outside she looked up, missing the view of the stars. The light pollution was too strong to see anything other than clouds. Sherlock stood next to her for a moment, following her gaze upwards. He then offered his arm to hers and they walked arm in arm for about a block before Sherlock was able to hail a cab. He opened the door for her, and they both rode home in silence.

* * *

**Mostly fluff, but it was important to add some minor details. **


	9. Chapter 9

**Warning: drug use discussed in this chapter.**

A week had passed since the dinner that Sherlock and Rachel shared. In that time, Rachel had written and sent the eulogy that was read at her parents' funeral. Her father had been an attorney and had the foresight to plan a will in the event that something like this would happen to them. They had left Rachel everything. The partners at his firm had sent flowers that had now wilted on her dresser to her, via the forwarding address she had provided.

She had began to accept the reality of her situation. Her body was aching, her back especially sore. She had not felt this pain in quite some time, but she knew what it was. The scoliosis that she had been diagnosed with as a teenager must have been aggravated after the crash. Her body had felt as if it were screaming. Her mending arm especially sore. She reached for the Vicodin that Dr. Watson had brought her in anticipation of residual pain. Unfortunately, while the medicine did the job of numbing the physical pain, it did nothing for the emotional. Sherlock could do nothing to help her go back home, and Mycroft had been of little help. As he had explained, she was an unofficial detainee of the British government.

If she were to be honest with herself, she would not want to go home if she had to. In fact, that was enough of an explanation for her aunt to leave her alone. She had been calling her nearly every hour to see how she was holding up. It wasn't until Rachel had asked her to send her clothes and a few personal items that she had stopped calling nearly altogether.

Sherlock had been quietly observing her slipping into a deep depression. Her clothes had arrived three days ago, but she had been wearing the same jeans and an oversized sweater for over three days now. He had also observed the arching of her back worsen. He, of course, knew the signs of scoliosis and had mentally added that to his useful information regarding her case.

That morning when she had come down he was interviewing a client. It was another simple case of infidelity. She was able to catch a glimpse of him pacing back and forth in front of a man who was shuddering in tears in the black leather 'client' chair. She paused to listen to what the man said. "She comes home late, never wants to talk." The man sucked in another breath. "I never see her, and when I do, she makes up some excuse to leave again. I don't understand. We were so happy." The man's voice was indecipherable as he crumbled into tears.

Rachel observed the Armani suit, designer shoes and silver cufflinks. The man had brought a picture of what she had deduced as the wife, Sherlock had discarded it on the floor. She was much, much younger than the man was.

"I can't help but think that she's cheating on me."

Sherlock said nothing, but continued to pace, no longer listening to the man. It was then that Rachel had moved from the doorway and walked into the kitchen. She poured herself a cup of tea, and leaned against the wall. "Of course she's cheating on you, you oaf. You expected a happy ending by marrying a girl like that? Silly fool. There is no such thing as happy endings. Sherlock won't take your case, you're frightfully dull. Which is obviously the problem with your wife." She turned and walked back up the stairs to her room.

"She is correct." Sherlock gestured to the door, and the now wailing man left. He had made it just in time to watch Rachel turn and close the door behind her. If Sherlock was to be honest with himself he had been distracted since she had arrived. She had a brilliant mind, but she kept that hidden. The dismissal of his client had been her first display of her tenacious mind since the restaurant. She was younger than he, but her brilliance was obvious.

Rachel had spent most of the past week locked away in her room. Mrs. Hudson would bring her up a tray of breakfast every morning and leave it on the nightstand nearest the door. Rachel would eat as much as her meager appetite would allow, and fall back to sleep. Mrs. CHudson would later allow herself into Rachel's room to collect the tray once again.

Molly had visited several times, bringing her sweets or books or different trinkets to help her occupy her time. Rachel had already solved most of the crossword puzzle books that Molly had brought. Sherlock would find the discarded books scattered thought her room when he would check on her.

Sherlock would visit her room once a day or so, checking on her well being. Her arm was mending well, but her back was obviously causing her pain. He had also observed some signs of her beginning to get addicted to hydrocodone. He was all too familiar on what drugs could do to a body if they were allowed to proceed.

It was later that evening that Rachel had decided to take a shower. She docked her iPod and started her usual playlist for her shower. Sherlock heard the shudder of the old pipes as the water turned on. He had been sitting in his chair near the fireplace reading a casefile from Lestrade but tucked the papers in between the cushion and made his way up the stairs silently. Once upstairs he quietly let himself into her room. It took him a matter of seconds to find the bottle of Vicodin that was tucked into the drawer of her nightstand. He opened the bottle, took a single pill out and left it where the bottle was originally. He left a note:

Your next dose will be made available in 6 hours- SH

And just as silently as he had made his entrance, he left, carrying the bottle with him. He made sure to put them out of sight, and went to bed. He expected a long night was to be ahead of him.

Three hours later, Rachel found the note. She slammed the door shut other nightstand and stormed downstairs. She turned the corner and threw the door open to his room.

"What is the meaning of this?" She shouted at him, furiously throwing the crumpled paper at him. Sherlock pushed his body up, the sheets falling from his bare chest. She was momentarily taken aback. She had not expected him to be in such good shape. Her jaw went slack. Even in the dark with the scarce light from the street lightly illuminating the room she could see how well defined he was.

"You were beginning to form an unhealthy habit. I stopped it before it could get worse. You will continue to receive your medication, but on a schedule and I will be monitoring you." His voice was groggy, but somehow like velvet. He looked at her, the messy curls were untamed from the pillow. She felt as if her knees were going weak.

"You have no right, none at all." She was struggling to maintain the anger that she had walked in with. "You don't know what this is like, I need that, it helps." Her voice began to trail off when he reached for the bedside lamp. He clicked the light on, the brightness temporarily blinding her.

"You may think I know nothing, but your selfish pain leaves you blind to those around you who have only been trying to help you. Your selfishness has only caused you further pain, and you are feeding the pain by feeding your addiction." He held out his left arm showing her the scars from the years of drug use that haunted him. "You know nothing. You may think that what you are feeling is the worst pain that a person can endure, but I can promise you, there is far worse in this life." His voice was now near shouting.

She crossed her arms in defeat, she had no idea what this man could have possibly ever went through, but it was obvious to her that there were more than just the visible scars that were left on this man. Her eyes fell on his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing had calmed her a bit.

"I am sorry. I had no idea." Her face was red with shame.

"You see things, but do not observe." Sherlock stood, wrapping the white sheet around himself carefully as he rose off the bed. She averted her eyes, realizing that she had been staring. He checked the time, 3:30 a.m. blinked on the digital clock next to the lamp. Rachel had too realized what time it was. "I feel like some tea. Would you like to join me?" He offered a hand to Rachel.

"That sounds brilliant, as long as you won't be shouting for again". She accepted his hand and he placed it under his arm, and lead her to the kitchen where he pulled a chair out for her.

"Mrs. Hudson's medication keeps her oblivious to the world around her as she sleeps. London could come down around her and she would still be asleep." She laughed. He began preparing the tea cups as the electric kettle came to a boil, his sheet dragging behind him.

She rested her head in the good hand, using her left to shift the papers aside on the table to make some room. One of the files had opened, and the contents came spilling out. It was a case that Sherlock had been unable to crack for some time. A body was discovered in an alley way in central London, but it had been so bady disfigured that he could only say with certainty that it belonged to that of a male. Rachel began putting the notes away, but had hesitated when she saw the photos. She recognized the tattoo on the wrist of the body.

"Sherlock, what is this?" He spun around to see her holding up the photo and looked away in disgust.

"A case I have been unable to solve for some time now." His irritation apparent as he turned back to pouring the water in the cups.

"Did you know this tattoo was for a gang?" He spun round again.

"What?"

"Yeah, back in Florida there were on men who had lived in the Ocala forest. There was an ongoing case there where one of the men had been caught trying to abduct a woman, My dad was on the case for a while."

"Continue." He placed the tea in front of her.

"The man who tried to kidnap the girl got caught eventually, and had confessed that there were about thirty men in the group that would each kidnap a girl to keep for their personal use before murdering them and disposing of the bodies in the woods."

Sherlock was perplexed. This information had possibly solved multiple crimes. There had been a rash of abductions in the past year that had been unsolved with no apparent connections or patterns. He rushed over to the laptop, sheet billowing behind him, and sent an email to Lestrade, letting him know what files to pull, many of them now making sence to him.

"You have solved approximately 4 murders in the past two months." He turned back to her, oblivious to the fact that the sheet was now caught on the foot of the chair. Rachel said nothing, seeing the problem that was about to occur. The sheet slipped off his shoulder, and began to fall to the floor. His reflexes were slowed due to the lack of sleep, but caught it just in time. She had the answer to the question that had plagued her mind since she walked into his room. No underwear, interesting. She looked away, hiding the grin behind the teacup as she took a sip.

Sherlock said nothing, simply adjusting the sheet back to the appropriate position and sat across from her finishing the tea.

"Was no problem, Sherlock." Her voice deeper than usual. His eyebrow rose.

Did she fancy me? Certainly not. Her parents had only just died and she is depressed. Nothing more.

They finished their tea, said their goodnights, and went back to bed just as the morning light began to ebb in through the windows.

* * *

**Hope you like the updated chapter. A bit of fluff really, but maybe Rachel and Sherlock have more in common than first suspected. Please, review!**


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock had paced the floor for nearly an hour now. He was outside her bathroom door listening to the sounds of her vomiting. The sounds of her retching had woken him around nine that morning. He came up to her room to see if she was alright, and when he caught the first glimpse of her, he knew she wasn't. She had been sweating, and shivering to the point of near convulsions. He had taken her pulse, and her heart rate was through the roof.

John had come over as soon as he got the call from Sherlock. He had made the diagnosis of hydrocodone withdrawls. There was not much to be done except keep her hydrated. The bathroom had gone quiet, and the door opened. Rachel walked out, a towel over her shoulders keeping her warm. John guided her back into the bed and gave her a quick shot of Zofran in the arm to abate any further vomiting.

Both men exited the room, allowing her to rest. "Sherlock, how could you have allowed this to happen. You of all people should know…"

"Oh yes, John, I of all people should know what happens when an assumingly responsible adult is left to her own devices with opiates." Sherlock hissed at him, not allowing his friend to finish the sentence. He brushed by John, angrily walking down the stairs to the kitchen. John simply shook his head and followed.

Sherlock didn't want to admit it out loud, but he was genuinely concerned for Rachel. He even felt a bit guilty. Maybe if he did keep a better eye on her, this wouldn't have happened. He knew she was depressed, but not to this level. He had tried to push himself into his work, but his thoughts would continually fall on her.

John watched his friend attempt to work by sitting at the microscope and occasionally looking into the lense, but it was obvious his mind was elsewhere. He chuckled to himself, watching his friend lose his concentration and having to constantly refer back to his notes. Clearly, Sherlock's mind was elsewhere. It wasn't since Irene that he had been so distracted.

"I'll go check the post then." John stood from his chair and went downstairs. A small pile of mail was on the floor in front of the door. He picked it up. Sorting out Mrs. Hudson's and placing it on the table next to her door. Occasionally, John would receive some post here, and found it beneficial to check. Otherwise Sherlock would forget to forward it to him. He climbed the stairs back up to his old flat, but stopped when he found a letter addressed to Sherlock with the return address of Buckingham Palace. His eyes widened, and he ran up the stairs, this time skipping steps.

"Sherlock!" He shouted, forcing the door open. "You have a letter from the palace!"

Sherlock stood, accepting the letter. He walked to his desk to retrieve the letter opener and used it to carefully tear open the envelope. "Perhaps it's a bill for the ashtray." He said, laughing at his own joke. His eyes scanned the letter. "Oh yes, this is perfect." Sherlock shook his hands with excitement. John came over wanting to know what had his friend so excited.

"By the request of Her Majesty, you, and two guests are invited to attend the January ceremony in with you shall be honored with a knighthood..."

John stood in disbelief. "Sherlock, you have been offered this several times before, why the sudden excitement?" He stared quizzically, holding the document in his hand.

"Don't you see? I only need to get into the palace. And this is my opportunity to get into the queen's private rooms." Sherlock pranced about the room as if he was a boy at Christmas. John, on the other hand, stared in disbelief.

"You're going to do what?"

"I need access to the Queen's private journals and a sample of her DNA." Sherlock paused to smile.

John stumbled backwards onto his chair, running his hand through his hair in disbelief before leaning forward, elbows atop his knees and his head in his hands.

"It's for Rachel's case." Sherlock placed the letter on his desk, turning to lean on it. "I believe that she may in fact be, the rightful heir to the crown."

"The what?" Rachel was standing in the doorway, bleary eyed from the lack of rest. She couldn't have heard him right. It had to be the drugs in her system.

"Do sit, please." Sherlock motioned to the sofa and began to pace as she sat.

"My theory is this; for quite some time, there have been theories that before Her Majesty the Queen was born, she had an older brother who was born a year or so before her. He was put into hiding due to the fact that he had some form of a physical deformity, one, that if was put on public eye, he would have been seen as an unfit ruler." He paused for his own amusement and dramatic effect. "Some twenty years later, there were rumors that placed him in France around the time of the Second World War. His whereabouts were unknown after that. It is my thinking that you are his granddaughter."

She sat unmoving, flabbergasted on the sofa. John shared her disbelief as he too stared at Sherlock.

"I require the Queen's journals to confirm the placement of her older brother, and her DNA to prove your genetic lineage. You two will accompany me to the palace for the ceremony, and the ball that night."

John and Rachel looked at each other, both unsure of what to say.

"So that's it? That's your whole, brilliant plan?" John crossed his arms and scoffed. "Bloody well figures, after all this time it was bound to happen. He was sure to lose his mind at some point."

"But what if I don't want it?" Rachel's voice was unsteady. "I am just a simple American girl. I don't belong here. I am not in any way interested in this scheme."

"And wouldn't it be treasonous to even think this?" John had hoped to provide some logical thought into this debacle.

"Is it treason to want the rightful heir on the throne? I think not. He continued pacing the floor.

"Once again though, what if I don't want it? It's not who I am." Rachel sat, arms folded in front of her. She was ghostly pale and looked as though she hadn't slept in a week.

"It's not about who you are, but who you are meant to be. You can't tell me that you've never felt that you were meant for something more than just taking pictures for the rest of your life." Sherlock sat on the coffee table in front of her, taking her hand in his. John was taken aback at this small sign of affection.

"Give me time then?" Rachel meant it as a statement but it came out as a question.

"No problem in that, we still have to actually prove it." Sherlock stood, releasing her hand and sat back down at his computer. "We'll have to find you an acceptable dress. That should be no problem though, with a figure like yours, you would look fine in anything."

John's mouth was now agape. Rachel looked at Sherlock, surprised at the compliment. "Thank you?" She didn't know how else to respond. "I will go shopping the closer we get to the event, and when the dresses will be more appropriate for the season. It would be difficult to find one now with this cast."

"Speaking of cast, I looked at your scans from Bart's and it appears that cast can come off next week. I'll be by to remove it for you." John stood from his seat, brushing out the wrinkles from his sweater vest. "Must be off, some of us have actual work to do."

Sherlock barely acknowledged his departure. Rachel decided now would be the appropriate time to leave his company and go back to her room. She had to process the new information that Sherlock had given her.

* * *

**This chapter wasn't an easy one to write, sorry for the delay! I've started slowing in my writing so I can develop the story line a bit more. Please, review! I welcome all types of feedback! **


	11. Chapter 11

**Sorry for the delay in updating! Had a bad case of writers block there for a bit, and a lot going on in my life at the moment. As always, please, purdy please, review!**

* * *

December had finally come, and Rachel was finally beginning to adapt to life in London. She avoided all thoughts of her parents the best she could, and occupied her time with knitting. Her grandmother had taught her how to knit when she was much younger and she had always turned to it while she was bored or her mind needed to be occupied. So far she had nearly completed the blanket she was working on for John and Mary's baby that she had yet to meet.

She thought herself fortunate to have made friends in John, Mary, and especially Sherlock. She had noticed the dynamic of their relationship change after she had been able to help him solve several of his cases. Hers, unfortunately, was at a standstill until the knighting ceremony. She was still unsure of how he would carry out his plan, and she was unsure if she should even ask. One thing she had learned with Sherlock was that she should never question his methods.

This morning she had made him breakfast, and he had pecked at what he wanted, but left most of the plate still full. She no longer took offense to his not eating, she had learned that he rarely ate while working.

After he ate breakfast he had left the flat, saying something about going to the Yard. She cleaned up the table, washed the dishes and sat in what was forever to be know as "John's chair" to face the television. She began watching some early morning talk show and started drifting off. She was very nearly asleep when the door burst open, scaring her awake. A man stood in the doorway, with a gun pointed to her. He was tall, blonde, short hair, and very sloppily dressed. She reached into the pillows of the chair, hoping to find the gun that Sherlock would often carelessly leave in between the pillows. Nothing. The man began approaching her with cautious, deliberate steps. Her hands continued to search in between the pillows, her eyes never leaving the man. He kept the gun on her, walking to Sherlock's room.

"We keep no money in the flat." She said, rather boldly.

"Not looking for money." He replied in an American accent.

She was surprised in the accent, she hadn't heard another American in quite some time. Her eyes never left him, and when his sleeve had dropped a bit, she was able to see half the form of a spider tattoo on the inside of his wrist. Her had met something in the couch cushions. A marker. She quickly stuffed it into the pocket of her pants before the man noticed.

"We're here for the girl that has been ruining our business." He forced her up, yanking her arm into an uncomfortable position above her head. He began dragging her out the door, and she began screaming. She resisted, holding on to the door frame. She had managed to pull the marker out of her pocket, quickling drawing a spider on the wall. She was barely able to finish the drawing, the man pulling her and the marker streaking down the wall. Her kicking had knocked over furniture. Her screaming continued as she was dragged down the stairs and out the flat into a waiting cargo van. The door shut, and she was in total darkness.

Sherlock returned to the flat early that afternoon, as soon as he had approached the door, he knew something was not right. The knocker was not the way he had left it and the door was slightly ajar. He climbed the steps, pushing the door open slowly with his forefinger, leaning slightly to get a view of the interior without entering first. His heart was pounding in his ears as he entered, seeing the side table knocked over. He called out for Rachel, but heard no response. His legs carried him up the stairs faster than he imagined that he could run. Bursting into his apartment, he saw the chaos left behind. The tele was still on, his chair knocked over, the table on the floor with the lamp in shards around his feet.

"Rachel!" He shouted, once again there was no answer. He felt a wave of nausea hit him as his eyes fell on the obviously rushed drawing of the spider on the wall. His fingers traced the outline and followed the line that was left from her obviously being dragged outside the room. The marker was left open, on the floor. She had made it obvious who had taken her, but what was glaring was the fact that her fate was clearly spelled out for her. Within two to three days, Rachel would be dead.

Rachel woke up to a dull, burning ache in her head. She tried to lift her hand to rub her head, but she quickly discovered that she was tied up. She looked around the dark room, hoping to find some sign of where she was. There was a small window with iron bars on the outside high on the exposed brick wall on the far end of the room. From outside the window, she could see the shuffling of feet. A basement, she thought to herself. She looked around the rest of the dimly lit room, a large spider was spray painted on the left wall, matching that of the tattoos on the victims bodies that were popping up around the city. Shackles lined the walls of the room, but they were all empty.

A door opened somewhere to the left of her, but it was behind the wall that she was leaning against. She could hear approaching footsteps. She felt sick. She had remembered what had happened to the victims back home when her dad had brought home the case files. The man who had abducted her stepped into sight. she turned her face away, scared to make eye contact with the man.

"I bet you're wondering why you're here, aren't ya?" The man stooped to her level, reaching out to touch her chin and make her look at him. She said nothing, averting her eyes so the tears she was so desperately fighting wouldn't fall.

"You, missy, have been the thorn in my side for years now. I remember you and your paw from back home. That lawyer man had so many of my men put in jail. When he got my brother convicted of murder that was the last straw for me. I planned on doing something about it." He stood up, adjusting his pants and walked the length of the room.

"We came here to England on a lucky break, you see. Me and five of what was left of my boys. We picked up where we were left off back home, pickin the prettiest and the classiest of girls to bring back here to our little home to have fun with. We were having such a good time, when, all of a sudden' my boys started going missin' one by one. Then, next thing you know, they're turning up in alleyways crispier than a Sunday barbecue." He wiped his mouth and opened a fridge that was at the corner of the room, helping himself to a beer. "I was reading the paper one day, when I saw that you and your maw and paw had come here to London for a little family vacation. And you know what, you little bitch? Justice was served in that bus wreck. Ya'll done got what you deserved." He took a sip of the beer and looked her over.

"I don't understand, if you think justice was served then why did you bring me here? I didn't have anything to do with the work my dad did."

"You're still his kin, and the way I see it, since my brother is locked up, you should be too. And since your paw got him put on death row, I think it's only fair that I kill you too."


	12. Chapter 12

Sherlock hadn't bothered to call Lestrade until he was already in a taxi heading to the Yard. The whole ride he had spent searching his mind, trying to figure out where Rachel might have been taken. They had let the case drop for the time being since there were no further kidnappings that fit the pattern of the spider tattoo.

Snow began to fall, fluttering down gently onto the windshield of the car. The driver clicked on the wipers and the sound of the rubber squeaking on the glass brought Sherlock out of a trance-like state. He drew in a heavy breath, and looked out the window. Somewhere, Rachel was out there. He couldn't begin to guess if she was still alive. This wasn't one of their usual kidnappings. This was a personal grudge that was being carried out.

Lestrade had met him at the steps, opening the door of the cab for him. Sherlock bounded out barking orders. "I want a task force assembled and ready to go. We don't know what we are expecting, so we should be prepared for anything. I want medics on standby just in case." He entered the building, making his way to Lestrade's office.

Rachel noticed the snow falling onto the ground outside the window. She felt a shiver run down her spine. This basement was not set up for heating, and she was wearing only sweatpants and a tee shirt. Her abductor had left her only a bucket to use for a restroom. Leaning against the wall, she wondered where Sherlock was. Her only hope was in him cracking the case before it was too late.

* * *

Sherlock paced the office room, occasionally glancing at the whiteboard with a map of where all the kidnapping victims bodies were found. He was feeling the strain of nervousness on him. There was no clear pattern to these kidnappings. At first, he had thought the logical place for a hideout to be would be in the very center of the bodies locations, but once he realized that there were no places that matched to gravel on the victims shoes, that idea was a wash.

"Don't strain yourself too much, freak." Sally Donovan strode into the room, giving Sherlock a subtle nod.

"I said your best team, Detective Inspector." Sherlock said, unmoving from his place, eyes darting over points on the map. Donovan made no acknowledgement of his remark, she simply walked into the next room shaking her head.

A pattern started to form before his eyes. He grabbed the dry erase marker that was on the rest on the whiteboard and began connecting dots. Each dot was a victim, and he began tracing them in order of their death. The shape it began to form was that of a web.

"She's here." He circled a city block on the map.

Lestrade strode over, looking at the map. "Amazing."

"Was obvious, really." They are spiders, and they have made London their web. Now, could we stop admiring my work and get Rachel before it's too late?"

"Of course." Lestrade grabbed his coat and followed Sherlock, who was already halfway down the hall.

* * *

The basement door creaked open again and a long shadow appeared on the floor. She lifted her head off the cold, damp floor as the man walked toward her. She scooted herself backwards, fear swelling in her throat. A sharp pain tore through her side as the man kicked her. She screamed, blood pouring out of her mouth.

"Like that, don't ya, bitch?" He kicked her again, then taking a drink out of the bottle he held in his hand. "Whatever, I don't expect you to answer." He leaned against the pole opposite her spot on the wall. "You see, here's my way of thinking. All my men have been burned, so I think it's only fittin' that I burn you."

Her eyes sparked in fear as he kneeled in front of her to stroke her hair. She shuddered at the touch.

"I'm sorry, sir, I really am, but I had no part in what happened to your brother. I was in high school when most of this even happened."

"Don't matter to me, you're still the lawyer's daughter. Now you hold tight for a while, It's not going to take long for things to heat up in here."

He stood up and walked to some shelves against the wall to her right. She began struggling with the shackles around her wrists, hoping to loosen them in time to get away before she was seriously hurt, or worse. He grabbed a bucket of kerosene, and began dousing the room with it.

"Now, don't you worry missy, I'm going to be right here with you. I ain't got much to live for anymore, and since your parents are dead, I'm figuring you don't either."

Her heart sank as her mind immediately went to Sherlock. What was going to happen to him? She realized she didn't want to live another moment without him in her life.

He continued pouring the kerosene around the room, occasionally taking a drink of his beer and admiring his handiwork.

"Sherlock, please come quickly." She whispered to herself.

* * *

The police car flew around the corner, momentarily going on two wheels. Lestrade was driving, Sherlock sat motionless in the passenger seat listening only to the pounding of his heart in his ears. He was beginning to realize that he didn't want to imagine what would happen if he didn't get to her in time.

"What do you think is going to happen?" Lestrade asked, glancing at the pensive detective.

"He's most likely going to act out on her what has been done to the members of his gang." He looked out the window, fighting back tears. "Turn here."

Lestrade turned as ordered and slowed the vehicle to a stop. "That's it ahead." He pointed to a brick brownstone that was three doors ahead. Barking orders over the radio, he stepped out of the car. Sherlock followed suit, adjusting his coat. They slowly approached the building, following the lead of the swat team that had assembled faster than what Sherlock had realized.

The team had swarmed around the house, each member checking the windows and entry points. "Fire sir, fire in the basement!"

Without thinking, Sherlock bolted toward the house. He swung round the basement railing in the back alley and slammed his body into the door. He heard Rachel's voice screaming from the inside. Once again he slammed his body against the door, avoiding the red hot doorknob. He screamed in response to the ache of his shoulder. He began kicking the door repeatedly. The hot wood creaked and groaned as it began to give way. With one last kick, the door crumbled. He raised his arms over his face as the flames licked outside the door to take in the oxygen.

Sherlock pushed forward, shielding his eyes from the searing heat and covering his mouth and nose with his scarf. He followed the sound of her voice, tripping over a body. He looked down, seeing the burned face of a man with a spider tattoo. In his anger, he kicked the body and moved on. He reached the spot where Rachel now laid motionless. Her arms strung above her head, shackled to the wall. He ran back to the body of the man on the floor, searching quickly for a key. Finally, he had found it in his shoe. Running back to Rachel he unlocked her wrists, covering her mouth and nose with his now charred scarf. He lifted her body into his arms and ran outside of the building moments before the basement collapsed behind them. He delivered Rachel into the awaiting stretcher before collapsing on the ground in front of the ambulance.


	13. Chapter 13

**I'm a horrible writer. Too much stuff going on personally, and haven't had much inspiration. But, without further ado, chapter 13.**

She felt as if she was swirling around the room. The familiar sounds of home were floating around her. Memories were rushing back to her as she sat up, her hand flying to her head as if it would help the pounding ache that was creeping up though head

.

"Sherlock?" Her voice croaked out. Worry flooded her mind. The last she had remembered, he was carrying her out of the burning building. Her eyes were working to focus on the room around her. She was in the bed in her room and the bright light of early morning was shining through the cracks of the window blinds. She looked to her left to see Sherlock sprawled across the bed, his hand seemingly reaching for where she was laying. She smiled, looking at the handsome man that had saved her life again.

She climbed out of the bed, her bare feet reaching the cold floor. She quietly padded her way to the bathroom, flipping the light on. The reflection in the mirror was not as bad as she had expected. She leaned forward, rubbing her eyes. The ache in her back reminding her of the ordeal that she had survived. She brushed her teeth, pushing all the unpleasantness out of her head. She lowered her head to was her face in the sink. The cool water was refreshing on her warm skin. She raised her head only when she felt a hand on the small of her back. She brushed her hair out of her face and was greeted with the reflection of Sherlock in the mirror. She smiled, and he returned the smile, warmly.

"Good morning, Rachel." His voice was warm and husky from recently waking. It sounded like velvet to her.

"Good morning, Sherlock." She turned to face him, his had stayed on her body as she turned so that when she was facing him his hand was resting on her hip. She made note of this unusual display of affection, slightly surprised by it.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, moving his right hand to her left hip, resting both hands there as if it were something he had done a thousand times before. She was comfortable like this, it felt natural.

"I feel fine, sore, my lungs hurt, but I am okay."

"That is good news. You had been asleep for two days, John said you were simply exhausted from the lack of sleep and the trauma of all the kidnapping, but I was still worried."

She leaned into him, winding his arms around him. He accepted the embrace, holding her closely.

"I was worried I would never see you again." She choked on her words, holding back the tears that were threatening to spill over.

"I felt the same." He was surprised at the ease of his response. Nothing would have been more unusual for him to say than what had just left his mouth.

Rachel felt her heart pounding in her throat. This time she was sure that it wasn't her recent ordeal, but the fact that she did indeed have feelings for him that were beginning to lump in her throat. Without further thought, she leaned in and gently kissed him. She expected him to pull back but instead he felt her arms around her tighten and he deepened the kiss. Her heart was racing and her mind was empty except for the thought of the man that was currently embracing her. His body pushed against hers, forcing her against the counter. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he lifted her gently and placed her on top of the counter. His hands worked into her hair, tugging gently.

It was at that moment that someone in the next room cleared their throat. The couple sprung apart as it a jolt of electricity had come between them.

"I see you both are feeling well." John said, a smug grin plastered on his face.

"Quite well." Sherlock's eyes darted about the room, he forced himself not to focus on either person in front of him. Rachel was blushing, as if she had just realized that she was wearing nothing more than one of Sherlock's shirts. She was pulling down the hem, trying to regain some of her modesty.

"I have breakfast ready for you two downstairs, if you're not too busy." John's faced was still twisted into a grin.

"We'll be down." Sherlock barked out, rubbing the back of his neck casually glancing at Rachel.

"Thank you!" Rachel called out to John as he left the room. The pair stood silently for a moment, obviously unsure of what to do next.

"I'm sorry." His voice was soft, something that Rachel was not used to.

She pulled herself down from the counter and moved across the way to where he was standing. He stood motionless as she wrapped her arms around his body, leaning her head into his chest. He held her and kissed the top of her head.

"So, what does this mean?" She looked up at him, noticing his curls falling around his face. She brushed them away.

"I'm not sure this needs definition, but I do know that I wouldn't want to be put into a position to where I might be losing you again."

Without hesitation, she kissed him again.

"Perhaps we should go eat breakfast before it gets cold?" He asked between her kisses. His hand moved down to her bottom.

She pulled away and smiled, "Seems like things are pretty warm in here anyway." She reached behind the bathroom door and shrugged on her dressing gown. They made their way downstairs, and to no surprise, John was still smiling.


	14. Chapter 14

**Another chapter ready for your reading pleasure! Please, be sure to review. I have no idea if you are indeed enjoying reading if you don't leave me a review! **

The days were flying by for Rachel. Curled into the couch, she had been scrolling through the calendar on her iPhone. It was fascinating to her how quickly the time had passed. It seemed as if it had been a few weeks since the accident that had claimed the lives of her parents, and now, Christmas was in two days. That had also meant that the knighting ceremony was in two weeks.

Her new companion, Sherlock, sat across from her, his fingers steepled under his chin as he watched her. The two had been inseparable since he had rescued her from the fire. It had been a very long time since he had felt this way for anyone. He had kept his heart guarded, but Rachel had slowly worked her way past the wall that he had put up.

They had returned from a short trip to several shops so that she could select a dress for the ceremony. She had refused him the opportunity to see her in the dress that she had selected. What normally would have been an annoyance to him was now a thrill. He would have to wait to see what she had chosen.

"Sherlock, I still don't understand why you feel you must pursue this course of action. I do not want to be a royal." She rolled her neck, letting her muscles relax.

"It's not a matter of making you a royal or not, it's a matter of getting to the truth of the matter." He ran a hand through his hair. "England needs to know the truth."

"But it's my life. Don't you think it's been upended enough?" She was nearly whining now.

"Let us get to the bottom of things before we make any decisions, shall we?" His tone had changed to one of slight annoyance.

"Very well then." She crossed her arms to show her annoyance. They sat silently for a few moments, before she got up and went into the kitchen. She had quickly adopted many of the British ways, including Sherlock's habit of making tea at the slightest sign of emotional duress. She had two cups ready, and made Sherlock a cup just the way he had always requested. Her light footsteps took her back to where he was sitting, and placed the cup on the table beside him.

"Thank you." He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his lap. "Don't worry, you will be fine, and nothing will happen to you that isn't meant to be."

She rested her head on his shoulder, nuzzling her nose against his neck. He smelled so wonderful. "I trust you."

Truly, as always the case with Sherlock, he had found himself a case, and like a dog with a bone, once he had sunk his teeth into something he would refuse to let go until it was finished. He had suspected since he had first laid eyes on Rachel, that she may very well be the forgotten princess of Great Britain. What this would mean for Britain, or the world on a whole, he was quite unsure of. History would literally have to be rewritten. The lost brother to the Queen of England, the potential for a different monarch, and certainly a different life for Rachel was a bit overwhelming, even for him.

It had been no wonder that his brother had taken such an interest in her as well. Mycroft had checked in with them right after the fire, but he had remained distant since. Sherlock knew that his brother had suspected him of digging into Rachel's ancestry, but why he hadn't tried to stop him or send Rachel home was perplexing. Perhaps he too felt that the country needed the truth, but being in the position that he is in, would be unable to expose such details.

Sighing, he released his embrace. It was difficult for him to push these thoughts from his mind. His heart broke for her. The last few months were more than he could imagine anyone bearing. Yet she managed to handle all of this with stunning grace. More than anyone he knew could do.

Rachel stood and turned to kiss him gently on the forehead. Sherlock closed his eyes, relishing the kiss. She drew back and the corners of his mouth drew up into a smile.

"Thank you for everything, Sherlock. You have done more for me than I could have ever imagined. You keep me going."

He was moved by what she said, regarding the expression of her face and knowing the full truth of what she had told him. "You too have done more for me than you might have ever known, Rachel."

She felt a wave come over her. It was as if her body had been thrown into a warm ocean and she had no want to resist. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart beat quickened. She wanted to tell him she loved him, but couldn't find the words. Instead, she turned back to the couch and tossed her body onto it. She reached for the tea that had now cooled to a tolerable temperature, and sipped it quietly.


End file.
